


Jump's Jottings

by jumphighlamb



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabbles, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Some AU stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26433241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumphighlamb/pseuds/jumphighlamb
Summary: A group of all my short usukus ficlets and drabbles that I've posted on Tumblr over the past year, and so fourth.Enjoy :)
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. Comparing Conduct

**Author's Note:**

> haha, some of these are real old so forgive me for mistakes (⌒_⌒;)
> 
> Most of this is for safekeeping and easier management, as well as making it more accessible for those who are interested in reading my old 'rubbish' lol (๑>ᴗ<๑) 
> 
> I'm still stupidly proud of some of them, though. hehehe.

AU: Human teenagers

tw: grandma's homophobia

Trees dashed past the window of my Grandmother’s car as I leaned into the back seat. I turned to a gushing Arthur next to me, and stroked his arm. We were driving to see what Grandma thought was an action movie, but it was really some cute and tacky romance movie playing at the same time that Arthur desperately wanted to see with me. He described the book to me, it was sweet but also deep, really cute, but not really the epitome of my interests, I’d admit. He said it reminded him of us, and the look on his face as he said it… well, I guess that part is the epitome of my interest. Hah, I should tell him that most romance movies just follow the same cookie-cutter-plot formula that action movies do these days, just to test his reaction. I giggled at the thought of accusing him of hypocrisy. Oh, how that would get him riled up.

But hey, I’m a hypocrite too, because I can be entertained by anything. So, I didn’t mind going to see a romance movie, in fact I was kinda looking forward to it. It gives me the blessing of watching his blushing, lovestruck face as he looks at me softly as the movie provides beautiful neon backlighting.

My thoughts were swiftly interrupted by a voice coming from the front seat as my Grandmother began to ramble. “It’s so good to see you going out with your friends, unlike your hermit cousin Matthew,” she spat. “You’re so different, the two of you. I can’t believe you’re related!” 

The agitation in her voice was evident, and it confused me as to why she seemed so aggressive towards Matt. He wasn’t a hermit. I know ‘cause I’ve spent a lot of time with him. He was one of my closest friends, practically my brother, no, my twin at this point. Yeah, he and I had our issues, but Art and I loved him still, and I was hoping that one day… he could be my best man at our wedding too. Curiosity overcame me, I just had to know why she’d say things like that in such a weird tone.

“How so, Gran?” I leaned forward to ask her, hoping there was no hidden aggression showing through my voice.

“Well, first off…” she quietly started, as it her words were treading on thin ice. “He’s bisexual.”

I turned to Arthur, and sighed quietly as I leaned back and took his hand. Matt was a brave one, and he didn’t care about what others thought of him. He came out a few months ago, once he started dating his two boyfriends. We, on the other hand, were still in the closet with most of my family. I looked up at Art, he looked slightly blurry, but I could still tell from his red face and huffed expression that he was livid. I just felt crushed.

“And he’s an atheist! Not like you at all, Alfie. You’re a good Christian,” she declared.

Yeah, I was proudly a good Christian… who fornicates with his Wiccan boyfriend. Love truly does cover a multitude of sins, after all. I remember telling my pastor about our relationship, and he was so loving and accepting. I don’t understand why my own family couldn’t be the same.

“Alfred can be quiet when he wants to be,” Arthur chimed in defensively. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be taking him to the bloody cinema,” he added pompously.

“Watch your mouth boy, I’m the one taking you,” she joked. It was clear she enjoyed the scraps of his forceful nature she managed to get out of him every so often. It was a shame he chose to cover most of it up around her out of fear.

“Yes, thank you again,” he stubbornly showed his plastic smile to the seat in front of him, clearly pissed. I just laughed and thanked her too, seeing the cinema come into view.

And with the change in topic, I decided to leave the conversation there. Maybe one day we’d have the courage to tell her the truth, but not now. I don’t want any drama on my own boyfriend’s birthday. That would get me into one hell of a hot mess.


	2. Redirect Your Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 2019:  
> "I’m super late for the 50th anniversary for the Apollo 11 landings but I love space too much to miss out! This fic’s a bit earlier than that, though, back to before the space race was even declared by JFK!
> 
> Where it’s 12 April 1961 and England isn’t so happy with the news regarding the newest endeavors in space exploration…
> 
> Warning; swears and very light prejudices (i guess?)"

AU: Canonverse, 1961

“This is unbe-fucking-lievable,” Arthur roared as he stormed into the room. “Alfred, look at this!”

America chuckled lightly in his cozy seat as his green-eyed monster slammed the daily news onto the coffee table. He leaned inwards to see the heading that he already knew, then leaned back into his chair eyeing England mischievously.

“And?” He flirted, bringing his coffee to his lips. Arthur was clearly taken aback by his frank carelessness to the matter, wide-eyed and perking up. He sat next to the smug bastard, eyeing him diligently.

“Alfred,” he pushed. “Russia just put a man in space.”

“Yeah, great isn’t it! Its so cool to see what humanity is capable of,” America chimed in with a grin ear to ear.

“What Russia is capable of,” England snarled. “God, I think I’m going to vomit just saying his name!”

Alfred rubbed the man’s shoulder tenderly, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not the end of the world. I’m actually kinda relieved. Just twenty years ago Germany was using that rocket to attack you, now it’s being refurnished to take mankind to the stars!” His eyes shone bright as he spoke, and as Arthur looked up at him he swore he could see those very stars Alfred talked about in his own big blue eyes.

“The purpose of the V2 has been redirected from pain and devastation to adventure and exploration!” Alfred shifted in his seat, eagerly moving towards his love. “How could I be angry at that?”

Arthur blushed as he chuckled at the hypocrisy. “That’s not what you said about Sputnik,” he smirked as he nudged him. “You were terrified that the communists were going to spy on you!”

“Oh please, that was the fifties! We were all terrified of commie takeover back then.”

“No, no! Speak for yourself, America. Your media works you up over everything,” England sung in reply, stroking his cheek. “Plus, you’re still terrified of ‘commie takeover’,” he chuckled.

“I blame McCarthy,” Alfred laughed. “But really,” he said as he held Arthur’s hand to his face, “this is different. This isn’t a spy machine, this is a man, a human man who has reached the realm of God… Yuri Gagarin, oh how I wish I could take your place.” He then paused again, deep in thought as he scrunched his nose.

“Well now I think about it I wouldn’t like to live in the USSR but-”

“Ah! There he finally is, my dear Alfred the anti-red,” England giggled as he whacked the man with his paper. “You know, my dear, that’s all I needed. Some conformation bias of my innate hatred for the other side by my most beloved.”

America rolled his eyes at his defeat. “Okay,” he chuckled. “If that’s what you needed out of me. But I’m not upset. This is just too exciting for me to be upset! And also kinda funny. D’ya know, Mr Shepard was supposed to be sent up about two weeks ago, but maintenance and safety pushed his fly date back a whole month. I mean, damn,” he snapped his fingers. 

“So close,” he chuckled. “So close yet so far.”

Arthur shook his tilted head in disbelief. “How could you be so calm in such a defeat?” He smiled.

“‘Cause,” America smirked. “I know my president’s planning something even bigger. And better. And I’m gonna do it first, so I don’t mind Russia having this one thing.”

 _Two things if you count Sputnik,_ Arthur thought as he snickered. “Well, what is that blasted Irishman planning, then?” He prodded on lovingly. Of course that brash idealist of a president would plan such a thing and share it Alfred, he was so much like the American personification himself.

“The same thing that I’m planning!” Alfred bounced in anticipation.

“Ah,” he deadpanned. “Great minds think alike.”

“We’re gonna get man to the moon, Mr President’s already said he’s planning a public speech about it sometime next year.” America giggled as he softly shook England in excitement. “It’s a new frontier, a new adventure. A place for exploration and discovery, and oh my God I’m so excited!”

Critical thoughts swiftly cut through the Briton’s mind. The sheer danger the poor man was putting himself in by starting such an expedition sent waves of fire down his body. He shivered as he stared at the hopelessly in-love look America always had as it possessed his entire body; face, posture and all. It was as if nothing could deter his love when he caught sight of a new and exciting idea. Alfred was the most beautiful and pure-hearted being Arthur had ever met, he hated the thought of him getting himself hurt over such hefty ambitions that were sure to go wrong at some point. It was all just too much.

“Alfred,” he whispered. “Are you sure that this is…” England stopped himself from saying safe, he already knew the answer to that. There was never anything safe about what America got himself involved in, and he knew that. It would be better to ask something Alfred would be expecting from him, something he would be more prepared to answer.

“Are you sure that this is wise?” Arthur asked softly.

“Yeah, it’s a great investment, trust me I’ve thought it through.” America nodded fervently. The man clearly had no clue what dangers he was setting himself up for. But sometimes his cluelessness was a blessing, as it allowed him to reach for new heights nobody else would, and England knew in that very second that Alfred would one day reach the moon. 

“And who knows, maybe one day we can privatize space travel, and start colonies up there!”

At that England laughed, and he couldn’t help smiling at his lovable fool. “Oh God, please do. I can’t wait to see them start their own revolution.”

Arthur leaned back into the seat he shared with Alfred, and watched as his dearest love continued to ramble about stepping foot on the moon. Knowing the American, it didn’t seem so impossible. The man beside him won the revolution, after all. And he won his heart. Hell, he also managed to win every war sent towards him. Who’s to say his almighty and beloved America couldn’t tackle Earth’s mysterious age-old companion?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha, knowing history, most Americans did not react like this but rather with anger and with fear. I remember writing this, wanting to take a different approach in line with Alfred's optimistic character. Not too historical on public opinion, but true to him, at least. And most probably, true to everyone else as well who saw above the politics and just wanted to see humanity in space... :)


	3. Rose of England

AU: Canonverse, again.

America smiled as he scrolled through Spotify, looking at all the songs sung by Vera Lynn. He looked up to see England’s lips pursed and his fists tense on the steering wheel, his sharp cut jewels for eyes glaring at the road. Traffic always made Arthur tense. The threat of being late to meetings always made him anxious. Alfred held his phone close to his chest as he smiled softly.

“You know,” he shifted in his seat and cracked a wide grin at his beautiful island nation, “I think that some music might lighten up some things ‘round here.”

Arthur tsked and responded lazily, suddenly appearing more exasperated rather than strained, “no.”

“Ha! You sound like Squidward…” Alfred laughed loudly, breaking the oppressive atmosphere by mimicking his tone. “C’mon,” he prodded more seriously, looking down at his phone and rocking in his seat. “Let me play something for you.”

He pressed the button on ‘Rose of England’, letting it play loudly over the Bluetooth speakers. The trumpets gave the song a grand entrance into the car, and as Vera began to sing…

“No,” England turned the speakers down hastily. “I need to concentrate.”

“No you don’t, we’re in _London_ and you’ve been driving since cars have been invented.”

“Alfred, I said-”

“Well fine then I’ll just sing it for you instead!” And with that America began to sing the song that Vera would have if she were given the chance, honoring her vocals with the best of his own musical abilities.

_“Rose of England breathing England’s air  
Flower of liberty beyond compare  
While hand and heart endure to cherish thy prime  
Thou shalt blossom to the end of time”_

He finished the verse, only then noticing Arthur’s complacent silence, along with the pleasure of seeing a soft rosy blush on both of his cheeks.

“You’re an idiot,” he mumbled, his hands evidently more relaxed on the steering wheel.

“And you’re beautiful,” Alfred contently replied, bathing in his success.


	4. Left Before Destruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 2019:  
> "Just America having a little lonely Cold War mental crisis in 1961
> 
> It was originally supposed to be two paragraphs but I oop~"

AU: Canonverse, 1961

Never mind the world wars. Never mind their bombs. Never mind his old scars, as from this day onward nothing could compare. Alfred rubbed his left arm slowly as he sat glaring at the report on his desk. He let the ghost of an exasperated sigh leave his lips as he read about that _thing_ it was for.

The sheer might of all its inglorious light. The loud roar it bellowed as its flames soared. He himself had not seen it, but his men had shown him the files. It was indisputable. And the photos, they were almost indescribable. He gripped hard onto his left hand, his right thumb pushing firmly down onto it, as if he could cut straight through it.

He remembered when the first one was detonated. Oppenheimer had quoted the Bhagavad Gita beside him, a Hindu text. They both frowned at the meaning behind it. Alfred frowned again at his desk. There was a certain symbolism in common between Hinduism and Christianity, he recalled the man saying so long ago now. The left hand, he said, was inherently destructive. Christians believed that God created all life with His right hand, and destroyed it all with a wave of His left. And Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction, was known to hold the Agni – the flame of destruction – in his left hand.

America looked back down to his hand. He stroked it softly. He was left-handed. He’d used his left hand to hold his beer as he sung with Ludwig and Feli and Francis over promises of new beginnings. He’d used his left hand to draw silly cartoons with Matthew and pat his shoulder as they laughed together. He’d used his left hand to write dumb and sappy but honest and thoughtful love letters to Arthur, and stroke his cheek as they laid in bed together. That hand has been through so much with him. He would struggle without it. But why, why was he damned to have his left hand, the one so deeply tied to destruction, as his most dominant? What else but to set him up to be a destroyer?

Curse it. Curse it all. It wasn’t fair.

He didn’t want this ability to destroy anymore. He couldn’t take it. He never wanted it in the first place. He just wanted the war to end. He just wanted everybody to make up. He just wanted peace. But now a bomb of this size existed. Something only useful for destroying entire civilizations of people. It was wrong. It was evil. It hurt his chest so very much. He cried out as his whole body cramped up, falling out of the chair, desperate to stay in one piece. Everything was coming undone all at once. His gut felt as if a million ghosts were passing through him. His arms just wouldn’t seize shaking as his eyes overflowed with water. His slowly unstitching mind began to burst at the steams.

His frantic thoughts turned to somebody he knew who could fix it. Somebody who has made stitching and embroidery into something of an art that they held so dear to their heart. Some man who would softly hum as he stroked Alfred’s hair and kissed him better. Some man who could find this new weapon of Russia’s to be fatal.

As it was big enough to take out the entirety of London, and burst out so far it would reach halfway to both Cambridge and Oxford.

It could take out all of London.

It could take out London.

One wrong move on Alfred’s behalf… and he would die.

And it would be all his fault.

Because he brought these bombs into the world.

Alfred exhaled sharply. Albeit a fire of fear still burning up in his chest, he slowly sat upright, shaking like a newborn baby stripped from the safety of his mother’s womb. He leaned upwards, so the desktop came into line with his eyes. He reread the title of the report; _Tsar Bomba_. Oh, what a bomb. He felt like she must have had a sister, and she had been planted inside him as he slept, for he could feel nothing but a bomb blowing up inside of him. He groaned as his gut churned from the thermal heat, and he sobbed as he felt the radiation seep upwards, slowly melting away the carefully stitched patchworks within his brain that his English love had sewn up to help him rebuild his broken mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 2019:  
> "What’s interesting here is that Shiva is far from evil. In fact, he is the destroyer of evil. And I am sure that the Christian God would not destroy His own dear creation if it were not exposed as evil… keeping in mind I am ignoring the book of Job…. So Alfred, you are not as bad as you think… But do be careful, as Nietzsche once said, ‘He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster, when you gaze long into the abyss the abyss also gazes into you.’
> 
> Tsar Bomba had a sister, but she was never detonated… I wonder where she went…
> 
> Thank you for reading :) "


	5. Anxiety

AU: ambiguous

Alfred drummed his fingers on the table, swinging his swivel chair from side to side. He sat up then slouched then sat up and slouched again. He tried to think of what his therapist said to him; take slow, deep breaths and count to 10, then 20 then 30 if he had the time. It was hard though. He felt like his throat was closing up, and he fumbled to feel his pulse on his neck. He didn’t believe it when he felt it was beating at a normal pace. It did not feel that way.

His eyes darted around the room. It was too noisy, too nosy. Too many eyes watched his every move. There was no way he could do this presentation, no matter how many hours he had worked on it. It was all just too much for him. He wanted out right now, but he couldn’t leave. He begun to panic.

But Arthur was there, and he knew him well. He reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight. It was a wonder. Alfred’s love language was touch, yet his wasn’t. If anything, the Englishman was touch repulsed. But here he was, doing this for _him_. And he was showing him he loved him, and that he was not alone.

It didn’t stop Alfred’s legs from shaking, and it sure didn’t make the jittering go away, nothing ever could. But it did give him hope, and it did make him smile. Arthur cared. And he was there for him. And he would support him through whatever he was about to do.

So he was gonna try it anyway, no matter what nerves got to him. Because nothing ever completely removes the feelings of an anxiety disorder, but love sure does surpass it.


	6. Rhyming slang

AU: Canonverse, modern day

America was idly chatting away with Germany in the meeting room before tripping over a haywire chord on the ground. He swore softly as he leaned on the German, quickly apologizing to him as he swiftly regained his footing. Australia leaned back out into his chair and smirked. “You right there, china?” he laughed as England made his way towards them.

Alfred stood there hurt and confused. He thought Australia knew him. “Umm,” he said. “I’m America…”

Arthur suddenly stopped and covered his face as Australia burst into laughter. The Briton looked back to Alfred with a loving look in his eyes and a bright smile, trying so hard not to laugh.

“Yes, yes, we know china plate. Mate. Its cockney rhyming slang. Didn’t your pommy boyfriend ever tell you about it…” Australia cooed. He carried on rambling idly and inaudibly about everybody else’s stupidity as Arthur, clearly ignoring the blasted kangaroo country’s insults, finally let loose and began hysterically laughing at America and Germany’s confused expressions.

Ludwig simply turned to look at America’s completely befuffled expression and shrugged. “No matter how hard I try, I just don’t understand English euphemisms.”

Alfred blinked, “neither do I, sometimes.”


	7. Disappointed

AU: ambiguous

“I’m disappointed in you,” Arthur huffed.

Alfred turned around from where he was walking. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I am disappointed in you.”

“But why though?” He groaned, exhausted. “Stop speaking in codes.”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

Alfred sighed heavily as he kicked the gravel around on the road. “Do you think I could have stopped it?”

Arthur watched him intently for a few moments before the brittle anger crumbled away and his eyes softened once more. “No, my love. I don’t think anything could have foretold this. I don’t think anybody could have stopped it either.”

“So why are you disappointed in me, then?”

“Because you think you could have stopped it.” He reached out a tender hand, brushed his thumb across Alfred’s cheek and held his chin down firmly, just enough so he couldn’t look away. “I thought I taught you better than that.”

Alfred shook his head as he broke free from the Briton. He waved his hands at him dismissively as he turned around and resumed his journey, heading down the abysmal road, or whatever was left of a road, he assumed.

“I don’t see the point in pondering over it now, my dear,” Arthur called out from behind him, his voice echoing off the land and rebounding back into the unnatural abyss of the molten lava sky. “Everything is as good as gone anyway. You might as well learn to accept it.”

Alfred refused to turn around again. What was there to see behind him anyway? Arthur wasn’t there. Nobody was there. They were all long gone. His brain was just going loopy, and his mind had run away from him.

Maybe he could find it again at the end of this long road… Arthur and everybody else must be waiting for him there too. He smiled to himself nicely, kindly, crookedly. 

_Yes, where else could they be in this barren wasteland while still being alive?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe an apocalypse!au?


	8. Tired

AU: ambiguous

“I’m so bloody tired!” Arthur moaned over the phone.

“Then go to sleep then.” Alfred chuckled before checking what was Greenwich time on his phone. “Arthur, go to sleep now!” He gasped. He’d forgotten how late it would be over there! “You can’t keep doing that, y’know. You know you can never get anything done without, like, seven hours a day!”

“I know!” He groaned as the phoneline crackled. “I just… I wanted to hear your voice… and this is the only time you’ve been available for a while now.” 

Alfred frowned as guilt seeped over him in one deep pulsing wave. “I understand,” he sighed. He really had been trying. It was just so hard to manage time these days. Life was too busy for barely anything.

“I hate you for taking that international internship.”

“I know.”

“I wish you were here.”

“I wish I were home too.”

Alfred smiled as he heard Arthur make a satisfied huffy sound, prodding at a crackling fire and ruffling with some fluffy blankets, no doubt trying to get cozy. He fiddled with his wedding ring as he wondered if leaving ever really was a good idea or not.

“But no, Alfred. You have to chase your dreams,” Arthur interrupted his unsure thoughts with a little yawn. “Besides, distance makes the heart more fonder, or something like that. I just have more to look forward to when you finally come back home.”

Alfred beamed, a surge of joy springing out from within in his chest. “Yeah, I count down the days until I can see you again… I just can’t overstate how much I love you.”

Another satisfied huff before a sleepy yawn. “I love you too… And Alfred?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you mind telling me stories from work until I fall asleep? You know I don’t mind your ramblings, and I just need to hear you speak…”

Alfred laughed softly before cheerfully agreeing. He supposed that even the King of all storytellers needed to be the one who is told a little tale every once and a while. And who else to do the honorable duty but none other than the King of all ramblers himself?


	9. Eyes

AU: ambiguous

This was probably the most upset state Arthur had ever caught his boyfriend in. Here he was, swinging his glasses around with one hand, and in the other he had a strawberry drenched in whipped cream just about to be thrown into his mouth. He was slouched on the couch, moping miserably in front of a massive half-empty punnet of strawberries and a knocked-over can of whipped cream on the table. Oh dear, what had happened?

“Aren’t you supposed to be working right now, Alfred?”

The American looked up at him, unimpressed with how his hands sat on his hips and how his nose turned upwards as he stood right before him. “I am… I was, but now I’m eating strawberries,” he replied gruffly.

Arthur crossed his ankles. “I must say, that appears to be more cream than strawberries in your hand right now.”

“I did sit down to eat strawberries!” He popped the one he held into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before he continued to speak with a mumble, “but when I tried one, I realized how old it was and was like ‘eww! This tastes like nail polish!’ But I wanted to eat healthy but the only fruit I like is the strawberry but there’s a strawberry shortage right now so I had to get out the whipped cream from the fridge and I doused the strawberries in that. So, now they don’t taste like nail polish.”

Arthur blinked. “That’s… maybe you shouldn’t be eating that if it tastes like…” He shook his head. Alfred knew that already. He knew better than that. He would only ever eat so much and so recklessly if he were in dire need of affection or assistance. It was clear that Alfred was sad about something. And he may be a goof ball, but he was no slacker. He wouldn’t skip out on his work time unless something serious was bothering him. So, that meant something was up.

“Alfred,” he said more slowly, leaning down and softening his demeanor. “Are you all right?” He bit his lip before trying to crack a joke. Maybe, anything that would get a laugh out of him or something. “Is it because that favorite video game character of yours died in that game you’re playing?”

Alfred smirked for a second before he shuffled around in an effort to sit up. “No, it’s…” His voice died out as he angrily spun his glasses around his fingers. “It’s these!” He cried out, stopping suddenly. “My glasses,” he pouted with a crackled whimper. “They don’t work anymore…”

Arthur furrowed his brows, concerned. “How could they not work anymore?”

“Because,” he pressed his hand into his chest, kicking his legs out as he tried to think of the right words. “My eyesight’s gotten worse! These are no longer the right prescription; my eyesight is still blurry when I’ve got them on now…” He tried putting them on, squinting heavily at Arthur before taking them off again and pinching the bridge of his nose. “They’re so expensive to replace, and these frames are already so heavy… They hurt my nose to have them on for too long.” He crossed his arms and shook his head, looking down at his feet, defeated. “But then my eyes hurt if I _don’t_ have them on for too long! I can’t win.”

Arthur nodded as he sat down next to him slowly, rubbing Alfred’s forearm as he looked down and listened to him carefully. “How long ago did this start happening?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Alfred put his hand over Arthur’s, holding it safe and secure on his arm, yet his eyes still remained far and distant on the floor. “But it’s been ever since I’ve been forced to work every day from the computer. I’m sick of all this administration stuff, I’m not used to it. I’m so much more used to dealing with actual people.”

“What are you doing on the computer?” Arthur asked, tenderly running his free fingers over the peach fuzz on Alfred’s chin.

“At the moment? I’m writing a report about all this company progress and stuff.” He narrowed his eyes at the strawberry punnet. “It’s such tedious stuff,” he whispered with a deep and angry scowl. “I’m losing my eyesight for such tedious stuff…”

Arthur sat back, considering his options. He couldn’t let Alfred go on like this. He had to help him. His mind buzzed as he thought up a solution, figuring out just what each of them were good at.

He held onto Alfred’s chin, forcing his boyfriend to look him in the eyes before leaning in and kissing him softly. He chuckled as he leaned back, tasting the sweetened cream. “Well then, how about we go and take a seat out the back,” he said as he tilted his head to point at the glassy back door, compelling them with the picture promise of an outside world of fresh air and sunshine smiles.

Alfred looked out there for a few moments, a wistful look on his face before he turned back and shook his head. “No, I should be getting back to work…”

“We will be, Alfred. You _are_ getting back to work. I just don’t see the point in you sitting in front of a Word document for any moment longer. Your mind always races too fast for you to keep up and type it up anyway, I’ve seen you do it. Don’t lie to me. Come now,” he stood. “Let’s go outside.”

“Then how am I gonna –”

“I never said it was too hard for me to keep up with you, now did I? If I couldn’t, then I would have been left behind in this relationship long ago.” He laughed at Alfred’s stunned expression. “Come on, let’s go outside. You can talk your report out loud to me. I’ll be your scribe.”

“But then your eyes will die too!” Alfred argued as he stood, his mouth wide to say more before Arthur waltzed up to him – so, so very close – and whispered into his ear.

“I’ll just have to write it all down with a paper and pen, then. The old fashion way,” he said as he let his delicate fingers dance across his neck.

He felt Alfred swallow. “Can you keep up writing by hand?” He asked, quiet.

“Oh, you bloody hope I can,” he replied proudly. “Let alone my boyfriend being fast in his speech, you should see how rapidly my English professor can shoot out words. And he doesn’t allow laptops in his class, God forbid.”

Alfred laughed, looking down at his glasses before picking them up and putting them in their case. “Do you think I’ll get back what I lost if I give myself a long enough break?” He asked as he let Arthur hold his hand and guide him blind around the room.

Arthur hummed thoughtfully. “I’m not sure,” he said, squeezing his hand tight as he picked up a notebook and a few pens from the cabinet beside the door. “It’s very hard to take back things that have been lost, but I suppose we can always put up preventative measures to protect what remains.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember this one! I really liked writing it :3


	10. Houses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this kinda usuk? it's not really the focus... idk if i even like this one ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

AU: Human, modern

Alfred and Arthur were ecstatic to share their very first meal at their very new home with Matthew, who came down all this way to celebrate this occasion with them.

They chatted, gossiped over their food. Gossiped over the new house, the neighbors, how close it is to Alfred’s work. How far it is from their old place.

Yes, eventually they did start chatting about their old house.

Crazy house.

They bought the land while it was empty. Dirt cheap price at that, because everyone thought it was haunted. But Arthur kept that little detail about the property’s background from Alfred back when they first signed up for it.

However, in the end, it wasn’t the apparent ‘haunting’ that drove them mad, as Arthur was so anxious about.

It was their poor building skills.

See, the lot was empty when they bought it. They thought it would be a good challenge to help strengthen their new marriage by building the house there themselves.

And you know what, yep, it sure was a challenge. It challenged their union, that’s a certainty. But it also made them sure they made the right choice, choosing each other as life partners…

But that was beside the point.

The point was that Alfred had family history in the construction industry. So, Arthur assumed he would be the best one to design the place as Arthur bossed him around and managed everything technical.

It turned out that was a mistake.

Because guess who made the roof out of tin?

Guess who woke up practically every night it rained by the sound of Zeus bashing down from up above…

Arthur sighed as he swirled the drink around in his wine glass. It was forecast to rain in a few hours.

He turned to Matthew and said, “thank you for helping us move out. I cannot wait to see how it feels to sleep without a night-time interruption.”

Matthew smiled as Alfred laughed. “You’re welcome. I think you two made an excellent choice with this house.”

“A little different to our old one, isn’t it, Artie?” Alfred smirked before turning back to look at his brother. “A tile roof, huh? That’s new for us.”

“Also far more expensive.” Arthur rolled his eyes, thinking of the price.

“But no more leaks.”

Oh yes, the leaks. Those were the epitome of how shit their skills really were.

Their old house was constantly, constantly leaking.

“And remember that crazy mold that grew in the corner? I had no idea that mold could be orange.”

Oh, and that too.

“I would rather not remember that, Alfred.” Arthur said as he scrunched up his nose and put his wine glass down.

“D’you know how we solved that issue? We put a couple of buckets in the roof. One above the bathroom and the other above the kitchen. That stopped the leaking for a while.” Alfred explained proudly to Matthew how they managed.

Arthur huffed, remembering it well. He was so glad to see that house go. He truly had no idea how they managed to sell it in the first place.

“Wait,” he said, snapping up straight in his seat. “Did we ever… fix that issue? With the leaking roof… we fixed that before we sold it, right?”

Alfred looked at him for a while, pondering his words before his jaw suddenly dropped and his eyes went wide. “Oh, shit.”

They forgot to fix the leaks in their roof.

Oh dear. Those poor, poor buyers.


	11. Leaving

AU: Canonverse, _s_ _et sometime in the far-from-near future…._

The humans needed it. But they couldn’t go and do it themselves; they would all die immediately. So, they placed this sorry burden onto the hearts of their nations.

When each country heard of this, they all gathered together quickly. They didn’t know who to send up there. The humans needed three of them. But they needed it to be fair, too. So their bosses commanded them to conduct a community vote.

Barely any nations volunteered to have their names written on the ballot, and thus the choice was limited. It wasn’t much of a surprise when the results came out. America, and Germany, and Russia. The hero, the directive mechanic and the old space soviet. They were chosen to go up there, and who knew how many years they would be gone for.

Italy screamed when he heard the news. He cried out, saying he could come too. His scientists were good with food in space. They were leaders in the development of space food systems. He could come as well. But it was no use. The three were chosen. And there was no going back now. He realized that slowly, and he lost color as he sat back down on his seat in putrid silence. When they were done, Romano had to drag what could have been his lifeless corpse out of the meeting room.

Japan was stern, and cold in his reaction. Almost jealous. But mostly saddened and remorseful. China vocalized his displeasure in the system, and how he had been overlooked as a possible and very valuable candidate. And India sighed and said he was glad it wasn’t him, despite putting his name down for the vote.

Prussia wasn’t allowed in the room with nations anymore, but when he heard the news he fainted. Ukraine cried. Belarus was proud. Canada was so overly silent that his presence in any room he walked into became the immediate loudest.

So the day came. They were being dressed into their suits. England was fixing the collar around America’s neck. Everyone working had left to go gather their extra things, and Canada walked out for some water. It left only the two of them alone.

England had been ignoring him for the past few weeks. He would send texts, send emails, call him, but the British blond would never respond. Now, it was their time to say goodbye. At least he bothered to show up, despite the silent rage so evident on his face. America watched his angry eyes and tense lips as the sorrow seeped through himself. He could barely stand how England was grabbing at him, shuffling him and pulling at his clothes.

“England,” he said tightly. England didn’t respond. “England.”

His eyes flickered up, but only for a second. He continued to tug at his collar. America knew he was done with it, and yet he still played with it. It was nearly driving him mad.

“England, I can’t do this if you’re going to be silent.” He watched him for a while. No change in his ways. “You’re killing me here. Say something!”

“What do you want me to say?” England snapped. Looking up at him with a heated fury that had only glared at him once before. “What is there to say?”

“I don’t know! How about ‘hey, I know you’re leaving soon, so let’s make the most of right now together because I won’t see you in –’”

“Stop.” England’s face fell, and he stopped what he was doing. He looked away, as if so fearful that one more look at America could shatter his eyes. It wouldn’t be so hard, given they seemed like they were made of glass.

“Why do you always have to…” He shook his head, still looking down. “Why do you always have to play the hero!” He grabbed a napkin from the side and tossed it at America’s head.

“I don’t have to, England. I _want_ to help others,” he said sadly.

England stood, taken aback. “And what the hell do you mean by that?” He whispered. “You want to leave?” He hissed as he crept closer.

“No, I don’t. I just want to help humanity save itself from extinction. This is something they can’t do alone. And I couldn’t just stand here and not put my name in that ballot because it would have haunted me for –”

“Do you know what haunts me, Alfred?” England interrupted him sharply.

America didn’t know how to respond. But he felt the fear creeping up on him. “What do you –”

“Do you know. What. Haunts. Me.” He said standing tall, right in front of him. “Every day. I have nightmares. I cling to that promise you made me. I hope that may heal my eroded heart somehow.”

“Arthur –”

“You promised me,” he whimpered, holding Americas head in his hands, and shaking it firmly. “You promised me you would never leave me again.”

And now America’s vision had blurred. And his chest was heaving. But he refused to let tears spill for now. “England,” his voice crackled. “I’m not leaving _you_.”

“You’re leaving Earth.”

“I’m doing this for you, your people, my people. This is for the world!”

“I won’t see you for years… Some nations speculate centuries.”

America’s throat was blocked, and he stood silently as he started to cry. He took in a few breaths before trying, “I am just trying to do what’s right.”

England nodded, knowing, as he buried his head into America’s neck. “I know.” He whispered. “I just don’t want you to leave me again.”

America didn’t respond. He didn’t know if he could even talk. Sorrow had stolen his voice.

“You’re leaving me again,” England repeated again and again, slowly, more calmly over time. Like he was accepting it. Expecting it.

America wanted to scream. He wanted to beg, to say he wasn’t leaving forever. He would come back. He had to come back. He loved too much to let go for all eternity. His hands shook as he struggled to speak. He needed to say no. He needed to say he was coming back. But he couldn’t. He tried tracing the words onto England’s back, but the Briton stood back, watching him with wide eyes. He nodded. He understood. England was heartbroken, and scared. But he understood.

America was coming back to him.

“You’re leaving me again,” he whispered one more time. “And rightly so. What else could I expect from my hero? It must be part of the reasons I fell for you.” He struggled to chuckle, and that small smile on his face, despite its cracks and flaws, was so beautiful.

“Save them. Save the world by going out there. But then come back. Come back and save me too.”

America nodded, running a hand through England’s hair. It was so soft, so silky. He was going to miss it. It was so cruel they couldn’t go together. But they had to get this thing done. “Okay,” he managed to whisper, finally accepting his fate as well.

There was a long inhale. Then a lonely exhale, lost out into space. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was pretty good imo 👍👍


	12. Live Til I Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a songfic I wrote for the hhvdevent earlier this year!

AU: Showbiz songfic

Alfred was a man of showbiz. _He was gonna live till he died._ He was an absolute heartthrob; all the ladies loved his dazzling smile. _He was gonna laugh ‘stead of cry._ He was a showstopper, an actor radiating such youth and power that every head in the room was forced to turn his way when he entered. _He took the town and turned it upside down._ Nothing ever got in his way. _Oh, he was gonna live, live, till he died._

His altruistic charisma and kind heart touched them all. _They all said, “What a guy!”_ Because that’s what _he_ would have wanted. _He was gonna play for the sky._ It was such a shame to the crowd he was so famously celibate, and none of them knew why – so strange knowing he never let a moment pass without anybody forgetting him. _Ain’t gonna miss a thing, he ain’t get a fling._ No, he rejected every beautiful woman – and occasionally an attractive man or two – who would dare beg to bed with him, and every single one would always be turned down. _I’m gonna live, live, live till I die._

Alfred leaned back in his chair, resting in the soft fabric as he reminisced his times dancing around the room to Frank Sinatra. He sighed long and sadly, running a hand through his hair. He felt so lonely without him. He missed him too much. His green eyes, his sharp wit, his playful smile. His soothing accent, his poetic way with words, his loving hands around Alfred’s waist. Why did cancer choose to take him of all people? And so young too, they had only just begun their lives together.

Alfred was gonna be an actor, and Arthur was gonna write his words. They were going to work on sets together, learning to both love and hate each other’s company over time as the frustration of the job overboils and they force each other to take a moment and step back. Maybe play some Sinatra. And dance away into the night, feeling bewitched by each other’s company.

But now Arthur was gone, and Alfred was left alone. He knew he could never take another, no, he was married to the past now. But Arthur never wanted that, did he? He always made him promise that he would live on, explore the world, be the star of every film he played a part in. Arthur wanted him to live, live, live, till he died.

Alfred smiled as the chorus played out in his memory. He guessed that in the end they managed their compromise, or “collaboration” as he liked to put it; he never liked the connotations of the word compromise in relationships. Alfred would keep his promise. He lived life to the fullest for the both of them. He carried Arthur’s memory everywhere he went as he showed his darling angel the world as he toured. People called him the greatest actor of all time. He really did live, live, live till he died.

Yet he never took another. He never gave any other person even the slightest look of lust. That part of him was locked away forever, an anybody who stood before it was sure to be rejected immediately. That was his side of their “collaboration”. His heart refused to give Arthur up, and so he let that will have its way. That was Alfred’s part of the deal, his solace, and he damn well guarded it with an iron fist and grand honor.

He laughed as he stood up. This room needed some music in it. Or maybe, he just needed some air. Yeah, he needed air. He just got another paycheck last week; it was about time he spent it. Maybe another adventure ensured – to another land in another world he had not yet been to.

“How about that, Arthur, my angel?” He sung as he flaunted his ever-bright smile to the heavens, chuckling as he thought of his reply. “How about next we _fly down to Peru_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo... i totally forgot about this one!! and the next chapter two!!
> 
> I'm so glad i remember them! Cause they're here now, and that's what matters :)


	13. Soulmates and Pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Day 2 of the 2020 USUK Week!   
> Soulmate au and Crush/pining prompt [July 5th].

AU: soulmate/pining prompt

Arthur always made sure everything in the fridge was kosher at all times. Everything was neatly packed, separate from each other in accordance to the law. He even convinced his roommate to install two sinks instead of one, all in preparation for his soulmate.

“You’ve got a Jewish soulmate, huh?” His older brother, Alasdair once told him when he was younger. “You better learn to live without pork, then.”

“How can you tell?” Arthur asked, looking down at the two small tattoos on his wrist, right under where his thumb was. They were different to what Alasdair was born with; he had an atomic whirl next to a question mark, much like the rest of their family. That was how it usually worked – your soulmate had the same faith as you. And most of their family was agnostic atheist. Most.

“You have a menorah there next to a line,” he said, although he looked unsure of himself. “The line mean’s they’re active in practicing the faith. If that line goes away then a new tattoo should appear below it and the line will stay with that symbol instead.”

“Is that for when people change faith?”

“Yeah. Some people have their arms completely littered with different symbols, while others live their whole lives with only their first born tattoos. It depends on how devout their person is, in the end.”

Arthur took a big, deep breath in. That sounded like an awful lot of things to remember as a five-year-old.

“Ahh, don’t worry, you wee one,” Alasdair said as he ruffled his hair. “You’ll learn more about it in school over time.”

And he did. A big portion of the school system was dedicated to philosophy, culture, and heritage. Kids learned everything there was to know about all the different sorts of world views. The culture of their country heavily prided itself on diversity of faith, but everybody knew the real reason most teenagers cared to know any of this stuff was for the sake of finding their soulmates.

He learned about what the specifics of his tattoo’s shape meant, and why its color was so intense. His soulmate was Ashkenazi, and whoever they were, they played a very active part in their community.

He learned more about the politics of tattoos, how sometimes a child with an unwanted first born symbol could be abandoned if their family clung to their exclusive faith like a cult. He learned about all of the organisations out there to help those outcasts, and about all the more hopeful charities too – helping the underprivileged access books and classes about the culture behind their soulmate tattoo.

He heard on the news about political movements that used chemicals to erase their tattoos, saying they damaged the human right of free will and self-determination, and that their existence in themselves invaded an individual’s right to freedom of thought.

It was a wonder how such a blessing – the universe’s gift of giving you not only a soulmate but also an indication of when you would meet them – could be so political and so explosive.

At least his roommate’s meeting with his soulmate wasn’t explosive. Well, it was explosive, but not in a negative way. Feliciano always showed off his tattoos now, so proud of the name of his soulmate imprinted right under a big, bold Luther rose.

He himself was Catholic, and so was his family. None of them minded though, in fact, when they found out a week ago, they welcomed his soulmate into the Vargas clan with a great, grand, loving embrace.

“Most families are like that, anyway,” Feliciano always said so proudly to anyone new he met over the past couple of weeks. “We have to be to survive so peacefully in such a sundry society. You shouldn’t listen to the news.” In fact, he was saying it once again, swatting Arthur with a wooden spoon as he pattered over to turn off the kitchen TV.

“I was watching that,” Arthur grumbled after rubbing the shoulder that now stung.

“Yes, I know. You were getting all worked up again, frantically checking all the food in the fridge again!” He shook his head and flicked his hair. “You always get nervous about all this when you see soulmate stuff on the news. You need to give yourself a break. Here, relax,” he said as he held Arthur’s cheeks and shook his head in his hands. “I am moving out soon, you know that. You need to be able to take care of yourself!” And that was something coming from Feli, a man who he swore had the most dependent personality on earth.

“How about I make us a pasta lunch? If I send you out to the grocery store can you promise me you will try and train yourself not to obsess over religion for one second?”

Arthur sighed. “I do not need babying. I am twenty-three, and you are twenty.”

“And yet I found my soulmate before yourself.” Since when was Feli so sassy? “Go outside!” He giggled, shoving Arthur out the room.

And that was how Arthur had made his way down to the supermarket smack bang in the middle of a Sunday.

There were so many people there. What was up, a massive sale or something? Blast it all.

At least Feliciano gave him a list of things to buy. Then at least he could go from row to row, picking out what he needs and leave. He head up to where he needed to be, packed a few things into his shopping bag and continued past a man who was offering samples of his company’s fancy new cookie recipe.

“Ohh! That looks so good!” An elated voice from behind him sung so loudly it made him spin on his heels. He was going to say something to the loud lad as he munched on one of the small cookie samples about keeping quiet out in public, but he stopped and fell silent the second he caught a glimpse of him.

The lad was young, lively, using cute gestures as he excitably thanked the sample man. His happy face shone like a beacon of light under that topless tennis cap. How handsome he was, and how well those glasses suited his face. Oh, bloody hell, was he crushing on this lad already?

Arthur gave him a quick once-over, checking out his dorky attire before feeling his heart sink. The contents on his shirt, one of those ‘I heart’ shirts, and below it there was a picture of bacon. Oh. Well then, he’s definitely not… the _him_ he was looking for, then.

He was about to turn around again before the lad spoke up, smiling at him in greeting and stopping his heart yet again. At this rate he would need to go to the hospital. “It’s real good, you should try it!” He gestured to the plate of food.

Arthur ensured he didn’t make eye contact as he rubbed his arm and slowly dragged out, “no… I’m in a bit of a rush, sorry.”

The bubbly lad gave him a pensive look, staring at him for a bit too long for comfort. Was he… was he checking him out? Arthur coughed a couple of times to clear his throat before he shook himself out of his apparent daze.

“Do you live anywhere around here?” He asked. Oh shit, was he checking him out for _that_ sort of reason?

Arthur slowly shook his head. “No,” he replied slowly. He couldn’t allow getting to know this lad any more than he did. I’d probably take weeks to get him out of his head already, he couldn’t afford this. It wasn’t fair, neither to his soulmate, nor his own heart. He didn’t want to get involved with someone who wasn’t his to begin with.

The young lad looked like he could see straight through him, though. “Aww, well that’s a shame,” he smiled. And was that a wink? What a charmer… No, no. A scoundrel. “Maybe we could be friends instead.”

 _Oh no. Oh, ho ho no. Not a chance in hell, buddy. There is no way I am spending the rest of my life pining over someone I can’t have…_ Arthur took in a deep, guarded breath.

“I’m Alfred, by the way,” he smiled so sweetly, and Arthur felt his stomach flutter.

He opened his mouth to reply before he felt a short little sting on his arm. He looked down to see a name slowly write itself on his skin, just below his dear old tattooed menorah he would doodle flames on every Hanukkah. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he heard a little gasp from before him, and he turned to see Alfred looking straight at his wrist as well..

“So you’re the atheist-wiccan-atheist-wiccan of my dreams, then! I’ve been waiting forever for you!” He giggled as he bounced up and down. “Why, howdy! I’m so excited to meet you. I mean, I thought you were gorgeous when I saw you but now I know and… Well I’m just so glad to meet you!” He laughed as he waved his hands around excitedly, revealing a pattern of repeating tattoos that went all the way up his arm. Oh… oh dear, so his indecisive teenage mind really did mess up his soulmate’s arm, after all.

“I…” He blinked rapidly, his eyes falling back down to Alfred’s shirt as he pointed to it dumbly. “I… but…”

“Oh…” Alfred stopped bouncing as he checked out his shirt. “OH!” He shouted again as he threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about this,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry! I gave you the wrong message… I’m just currently mad at God, that’s all.”

“You… you’re mad at God?” Arthur almost couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah,” Alfred cringed with an apologetic smile. He looked like a little puppy caught after tearing something up.

“Well…” Arthur clapped his hands together. That was quite a wild ride of emotions he just went through. “I suppose I am also mad at God right now.”

Alfred’s eyes glisten with a quick hint of fear, but Arthur was swift in his reassurance. “Calm down, lad. It’s not you… If you would like to know, my name is Arthur,” he smiled in sync with his name appearing on Alfred’s arm, right under the tower of tattoos he had unwittingly decorated him with over the years. “And I am glad to be your soulmate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written earlier this year:  
> "Yoo I’m just venting my emotions through Alfred’s character, don’t mind me… Sometimes you just gotta obey God but you can still spite ‘em.
> 
> His outfit is inspired by this all-famous, one and only himapapa [?] drawing:  
>  "


	14. Playful Insults

AU: ambiguous

Gilbert Beilschmidt walks into the room with the tallest black boot high heels you’ve ever seen, black jeans, a mesh top, and a vegan black leather jacket with spikes. He flips his long rainbow-dyed hair back and fourth, held up into a very high ponytail. 

“Hallo, everyone,” he smirks. “It’s me. The better, cooler, more extroverted German version of Arthur Kirkland.”

Alfred gasps, his oversized pink and blue fluffy coat bopping up as he stands. He brushes a lock of his hair out the way, a single streak dyed purple to add some flair and complete the bi color look. He was _affronted_.

“How dare you,” he finger-snaps. “You insult _my_ man.”

Matthew crosses his arms as he remains seated, watching the show with a strange sense of aggravated amusement. Ludwig keeps his eyes glued to his phone.

“What’s that, Freddi-chen?” Gilbert cooed. “Can’t take the truth?”

“Oh, I _know_ the truth. And the truth is, y’ain’t got _nothing_ on my man. You’re nothing like him!”

“Phhsh.” Gilbert dismisses him with a wave of the hand. “Please, I’ve got all his perks and then some. An adorably low EQ? Ja! Good at Physics? Oh, Jaaah! Ability to spontaneously invent new machines? Opp! Ja, again -”

“He’s got more class than you do, ya street rat!”

“Street rat?!”

Ludwig looks up from his phone and raises an eyebrow. “Do you have any idea how the rest of Europe perceives English people, Alfred?”

Matthew tries to hide his smile behind his hands.

“Ughh!” Alfred cries out, so overdramatic. Clearly defending his babe’s honor is futile with this crowd. He prances out the room with as much as a statement he can make. 

He has to go cry to Arthur about losing another argument… again.

But hey, there it is! A unique perk that Arthur has! He can always find a way to make Alfred smile again.

He opens the door to Arthur’s room and welcomes himself in, calling out to his beau along the way. And then he spots him, and he stops short.

Arthur. Standing there. Stunning. Dressed in a rainbow outfit, tailored to make him look just like a privateer.

That’s another perk Arthur’s got. He may be shy and introverted as hell - now he’s past his delinquent teenage years - and he hates to share his more out-there outfits with others, but when he’s with the one he loves…

He’s the best, coolest, most extravagant and handsome Englishman Alfred has ever met. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written on a whim


	15. Definitely Not Lost

AU: ambiguous, military

Alfred and his squadron were definitely not lost. He was good at orienteering, damnit! He was on the right path. There was no way in hell it was his fault he could see another group of men in uniform walking through the woods in the far distance. Nope. They were the ones off track, and they were the ones colliding into his group of pilots.

“You’re a little off course, aren’ch’ya?”

Alfred stopped before spinning around. He could recognise that voice anywhere…

But the only view he came face-to-face with was the abundance of trees, standing tall and strong, their leaves blowing in the wind as little rays of light peeked through just enough to brighten the forest floor.

“No, I think you are,” he said, assured, talking to the trees. “I thought you were a sailor. Y’know, the ocean is back that way.” He pointed out towards the direction whence he came. “That’s where you should be.”

There was a laugh. The sound of chiming bells. Pollen floated throughout the air, although he had a feeling his jolly counterpart would call it fairy dust.

“No, I assure you, my men and I are here with purpose.” Alfred caught a flash between two trees before it was gone. “Can you say the same for yourself and your men? I can’t see any reason why a bunch of aviators would be waltzing out in the forest. Can you?”

Alfred laughed, brushing his hand against the tree as he walked around it, expecting to see somebody there. But the space was somehow empty.

The voice came from behind him next.

“Well? I’m waiting, love.”

He spun around, smiling brightly, ready to pick his man up and spin him around too. But alas, he could do nothing of the sort. He groaned, rolling his eyes before laughing again.

Nobody was there, once again.

“There’s been a shortage of men at the base, so we’ve been tasked with helping out. A few of the boys suggested cutting down the time it gets to… get there… by cutting through the forest.” He cringed as he tripped over the words.

“Very efficient _and_ eloquent of you.” 

Alfred gasped. The damned bastard was laughing at him! 

“I can see how well that went.”

Alright. That was it! He ran around the trees, chasing the man he knew was there. No luck, there. No luck here. He was about to give up before he saw one more flash within the green, and he stuck his head through the small gap between the trees. “Boo!”

The sailor stood back, crossing his arms as he smiled smugly. Amused. Affectionate. Arthur.

“It seems you have finally navigated your way around to me,” he mumbled gently.

Alfred grinned at the ground, feeling a slight blush coming along. “Yeah… It seems like no matter how far I fly away, I always find my way back to you.”

Arthur smiled brightly. “Yes,” he whispered as he reached out to stroke his cheek. Before looking off to the side, and pointing out towards a totally random direction. “Oh, by the way, my love,” he smirked as they made eye contact once more, and Alfred inwardly cringed, knowing exactly what was coming.

“That’s the actual way to the base.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [A Brief History of Time ](https://open.spotify.com/track/13VdO4PnTT2ypqQSXTHSLj) by Jóhann Jóhannsson for 'The Theory of Everything (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)' [link goes to Spotify]


End file.
